One Fine Day
by Feather
Summary: This is a small little fic about what our favourite hobbits do before they leave the Shire :). No slash is involved. *UPDATED AND CHAPTERED*
1. In which the day commences

Title- One Find Day

Author-Feather

Category-Lord of the Rings

Genre-General/Humor

Rating-PG

Pairings-None

Author's notes: This is my first full-length Lord of the Rings fic that's not POV *waits for applause* *crickets chirp* Okay, so it's not note-worthy ^^;! So, neways, I just thought that it was about time I wrote down this idea, because I am always plagued by an idea I do not write until I am either driven to insanity, or driven to write the fic. Sorry, I'm redundant a lot of the time *laughs at own joke* *stops when sees no one gets it*. This is just a small little fic about what Sam and Frodo do before they leave the Shire. No slash is involved. You also get a lovely picture if you listen to 'Concerning Hobbits' on the LOTR soundtrack while reading ^-^ (though you might have to put it on repeat, as this exceeds 7,000 words!) That's it, love you all! ~ Feather =^-^=

***

A slight wind rustled the lush branches of the fresh green trees as the sunlight started to break yet on the brink of the horizon. An indescribable tranquility of utmost certainty of peace spread throughout the fresh meadows of swaying wheat as a handful of early hobbits started to come out for another day's peaceful work. And the day broke in one swift second as the peaceable folk started a day's trade, a day's worth of merry work and laughter echoed throughout the happy dell, with just a whisper of wind on the late spring air.

Frodo looked out over the bustling village of Hobbiton with a slight smile played upon his lips, a hint of dancing merriment twinkling faintly in his eye. The town he had grown up in, the sloping hills of the Shire and the merry music the laughter from the people, the wonderful hobbits, was as lovely as ever, a picturesque image with the small people pulling their animals into the market, the shrieking laughter of the children, the oh-so many scenes of happiness everywhere you looked. There was the piper on the corner blowing soaring tunes from a miniature flute; the satisfied child on the corner who had started to eat an apple; the loveliness of ladies huddled by the corner buying scarves and teasing blushing young men; and the overall laugher was as sharp and sweet as the music of a fiddle, and the place truly was alive.

Frodo could sense a presence behind him, a small subtle apprehension growing slowly but surly. It wasn't a bad sort of feeling, not in the slightest, but he acknowledged it just to make sure that he didn't jump when that person tapped his shoulder expecting a startled reaction, and he smiled a bit more. By the shadow, fairly large for a hobbit's, he could tell it was Samwise, Samwise Gamgee, who helped tend the gardens for BagEnd. Just as he knew Sam was going to tap his shoulder, Frodo suddenly turned around and shouted, "Don't move!" to Sam, who appeared rather surprised. Laughing in merriment, he turned to Sam with a teasing smile played upon his lips and an eyebrow raised. To see the startled hobbit stare at him in utter disbelief and confusion had definitely played to his benefit. "Thought you could pull one on me, didn't you? Old Samwise Gamgee, you're up to new tricks, aren't you?" In an uncannily accurate impersonation of Bilbo, the most-respected and unordinary hobbit of the Shire, Frodo sent Sam laughing too, until they were both almost doubled over and were clutching each other from sheer hysterics. Patting Sam on the back and slinging an arm over his shoulder, Frodo led him into BagEnd.

"Would you care for anything to eat, Sam? It's almost Second-Breakfast, but I'm sure we could have a little something before then. Would you care for some tea, perhaps, or a bit of bacon? We have some lovely apples, oh!, and some potatoes and eggs, if you'd like. And a fine loaf of bread, quite fresh, smeared with a bit of butter, that sounds good! What would you like, we have almost anything at all!"

Sam smiled a bit more as Frodo led him into the kitchen, which was crammed full of baskets of fruit here and there, half-cut loaves of bread. and tea things strewn about the tables. "Just a bit of tea, if you wouldn't mind, and perhaps an apple or a slice of bread, or something small."

"Righto!" Frodo exclaimed happily, scampering off into a pantry further down the hall to return with a wicker container of apples. Panting slightly, he handed them to Sam joyfully and started to boil some water.

While it heated, he beckoned for Sam to sit down, and took a seat on a small chair by the fire to watch the water. "So Sam," he said, "Have you thought about what to do today? You needn't work, the Gaffer enjoys so much to work out in that old garden, and he'd be insulted if you'd try to do something too! I was thinking about seeing Merry and Pippin, they're rather cunning and quite witty folk. Ever since Bilbo left, I'm not quite sure how to pass the time anymore." A dreamy expression cast over his face, and his eyes were almost heavy with a sad kind of listlessness. He looked over to Sam, a small sorrowful smile on his lips.

"You know, I miss Bilbo on days like these," he said softly in a tone barely above a whisper. "He'd always be so full of life. And would go down the village pub, and he would make everyone laugh. I used to ask him how he could be so full of vigor all the time, but he'd just laugh at me and say, 'Frodo, my boy, I intend to _live_ every day of my life, not just pass through what I have left!' When the dusk would fall, and the stars would just start to shimmer out, he'd tell me all about his adventures, never mind that I'd heard them all already, because he'd tell them differently every time."

He sighed, and stood up to check the water. Seeing it not ready, he started to talk again, in the same whispery voice. "I wish I was with him now. Knowing Bilbo, wherever he is, he'd have the whole place in some sort of uproar. He needs looking after, that all there is to it." He smiled at Sam again, his bright blue eyes so heavy and light at the same time. For a brief fraction of a second, Sam could see the burdens Frodo bore everyday, of losing Bilbo, of living in uncertainty while Gandalf was away.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Frodo, wherever Mr. Bilbo is, he'll be laughing the whole time. Don't look so sad, Mr. Frodo. Forget the tea, we can get some Second-Breakfast with Merry and Pippin."

Frodo turned joyfully towards Sam and took the kettle off the fire. He cursed at the burning-hot metal, sending Sam laughing again, as he set the iron kettle down on the hearth. "I'll have to douse the fire, though. Who knows what could happen if you left an open fire on these days...the wind's rather capricious of the late, and we wouldn't want BagEnd to burn down, now, then where would I be?" 

Frodo quickly extinguished the fire, put a fairly large quantity of apples in his pocket, and tugged at Sam's arm so he would follow. Sam, wearing a dubious expression, allowed himself to be pulled along, nonetheless, and soon they were briskly walking across the cool countryside.

"Mr. Frodo, are you sure you want to see…Merry and Pippin, sir? They're well, they're - well…" Frodo laughed at Sam's great lack of tact.

"You mean they're wild, good-for-nothing hobbits who do nothing all day but cause mischief?"

Sam nodded with a bitter smile. "Precisely."

Frodo, for the umpteenth time that day, laughed, at Sam, at the world, at the glorious carefree beauty of the Shire. "All the more reason to, then. Come on, Sam! We want to be there before Second-Breakfast so we can swipe some food off of Merry and Pippin, don't we?" He started to run through the meadow that was on the side of the path, calling something about a shortcut.

Exasperated, Sam could only helplessly follow the trail of the rustling high grasses that Frodo was making. Suddenly, the rustling stopped. Sam looked around, and saw none of the grasses were waving from movement. He started to follow the direction of that Frodo had been going in before, but grew lost in the large endless field. A worry grew in him, as he started to call out for Frodo. "Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo?"

Suddenly, a pair of apples flew through the air and hit Sam on the head. Turning quickly while rubbing the spot where the apples had hit, Sam was faced once again with Frodo. He sighed, picked up an apple, and tossed it to Frodo who was laughing hysterically at him. "I suppose you think that was terribly clever. However, you're wasting perfectly good provisions, and we'll need them if we're lost in this 'shortcut' of yours, which it appears that we quite are." Haughtily sticking his nose in the air and turning the opposite direction, he took a large bite out of the remaining apple with a great show of pompousness and superiority.

He was promptly ambushed by another few apples.

While he was down, Frodo took the opportunity to heave Sam up again, grab his arm, and start running at a rapid pace through the high weeds. Having no choice but to follow him, Sam shook himself loose of Frodo's tight grip broke into a brisk jog.

As they neared the edge of the field, a path, though broken at first, started to appear. As they continued, it grew steadily more used. When they reached the edge of the clearing, it was Frodo's turn to grow haughty with triumph: "We're lost, are we, Sam?" Seeing Sam's ashamed expression, Frodo composed his face with a small sarcastic impersonation of Sam. " 'We'll need those apples if we're lost in this 'shortcut' of yours'." Seeing Sam glance down at his feet, almost upset, Frodo changed his voice. "Oh, do come on Sam, you know as well as I that I was only joking." Seeing again that Sam hadn't looked up and was fumbling for something in his pocket, supposedly a handkerchief or something of the like, he continued. "Sam, don't be upset!"

Sam looked up suddenly, grinning wildly, and threw a handful of dirt into Frodo's face. Frodo sputtered, grabbed a handful for himself, and threw it in the general direction of Sam. Too quick to be faulted by such a weak diversion, Sam ducked under the spray of dirt, scooped up another handful, and artfully hurled it at Frodo's shirt, ending in a dainty pose. "That's for the apples, Mr. Frodo," he explained, suddenly apologetic. "We really should be getting along now, to see Merry and Pippin."

Frodo nodded, but as the turned to leave, the found the path was stopped by two shadowy figures. "None shall pass," one of them, the shorter one, stated.


	2. Food Games

Sam was growing angrier and more agitated by the minute. Perhaps from the lack of food, he growled angrily, "And why the bloody hell not?"

The other figure, the taller, slimmer one, tutted to the other. "My my, we can't have any of that now. Just answer some questions, like to start of, Why on earth are you two so messy?" The voice was coy, cool, and mocking, with a rolling Scottish accent Frodo found vaguely familiar.

"Why does it matter to you?" Frodo said, his mind racing. He reached slowly and subtly into his pocket and drew out an apple, incase the instance escalated to violence - or perhaps another reason…

"We just want to know," the shorter one said, in a voice that Frodo found familiar, too. "I mean, it's not everyday you see two normally respectable hobbits covered with dirt. Especially not one with such a reputation as yourself, Mr. Frodo Baggins, or you, Mr. Samwise Gamgee."

"How do you know our names?" Sam asked, mildly put-off yet still steadily growing angrier.

"Magic," the shorter one whispered coolly and quite sarcastically. "Honestly, Sam, did you think we'd let you visit if you were _that_ messy? We can't have any of that in my clean hole, thank you very much!" Pippin threw off his cloak, at the same time as Merry did, and both of them splashed Sam and Frodo with quite a bit of water.

Frodo, prepared for such an attack, threw the apples with an expert aim, and whacked both Merry and Pippin on the head, which temporarily stopped them. "Charge!" he cried loudly to Sam, who immediately ambushed both the younger hobbits. All of them were laughing, covered in mud, and quite wet by the time the assaults had been completed.

Frodo raised one eyebrow at Pippin. "What on earth were you talking about, Pip? You are quite something to look at yourself, all covered in mud. And your hole, it probably hasn't been properly cleaned for a year at least!" Pippin grinned sheepishly. He turned to Merry. "And you, Merry, you aught to have decency enough to tell your friend to clean himself once in a while." His cold, cynical stare got the better of the both of them, and they were both highly embarrassed, with a flush rising to their faces.

Clearing his throat, Sam stopped Frodo's interrogations by asking, "How did you know that we were coming, really?"

"Easy," Merry answered, relieved at the break in the shame. "You, both of you, make so much noise that we could have heard you a mile away!"

"Yes, I quite agree," Pippin stuttered nervously. "You both are rather loud, you know. But!" he said hastily, catching Frodo's evil eye, "Would you care for some Second-Breakfast? It would be rather late, of course, but…"

"Yes, thank you," Frodo said kindly, stopping his evil eye after seeing how it did so make the other hobbits twitch a bit, though it _was _quite amusing.

They followed Pippin a ways, and the company of four hobbits found themselves in a messy hallway. "So," Pippin said, "Would you care for a bit of food for Second-Breakfast? Let's see…we could have a bit of bacon and potatoes, some bread, tea, oh, that sounds nice! Umm…some eggs some cheese, apples, we could make toast, and a bit of sausage would be good, too! What would you like?"

"Honestly, Pippin, like we'd eat paper for Second Breakfast," Merry said sarcastically. Pippin scowled at him in return, but said nothing more.

The quartet of hobbits followed a very enthusiastic Pippin into a small, messy kitchen, and started to prepare a breakfast. Pippin, while in various other pantries and fetching supplies, was unaware of the havoc that Frodo and Merry were creating. Sam had his back turned and was starting the fire. During that time, Frodo and Sam started to quietly upset baskets, pull dishes out of drawers, spill sugar and milk on the table, and make subtle damages to the already disorganized kitchen. They snickered quietly and quickly ducked under the table.

Pippin burst into the kitchen, now an utter mess, with his arms full of eggs, bread, potatoes, tomatoes, and cheese. He stopped dead still, and looked at Sam with his mouth open. "Sam, what did you do to the kitchen?" This sent Merry and Frodo into shaking fits of silent laughter under the table, almost giving them away.

Sam turned frostily around, and looked at Pippin with a fairly angry look at being accused of a crime not committed. "I have no notion of what you're talking about. I've just been over here starting a fire. What are you talking about, anyway, there's nothing…" He trailed off at seeing the mess. His tone grew indignant. "I didn't make this mess, honestly, Pip, why would I have reason to? It's Frodo, and Merry! All day they have been behaving like children!"

Pippin looked at Sam disbelievingly. "And I'm supposed to believe that? First of all, Merry is just a dolt, plain and simple, and, well, doesn't know any better."

Frodo had to kick Merry under the table to keep him from making any outbursts that would give them away.

"And Mr. Frodo," he continued, "Why, he's the most dignified hobbit in all of Hobbiton! Why would _he_ make a mess of my kitchen? Honestly, Samwise Gamgee, sometimes you give me reason to believe you're denser than a block of wood!"

This _did_ send Merry over the edge, and he gave a loud snicker. Frodo turned on him quickly, sending him an icy glare and elbowed him in the ribs. But he, too, had a bemused smile on his face, as though trying to hold in his suppressed laughter.

"What was that?" Sam said sharply. "I'll bet Frodo and Merry are hiding! They don't want to take the blame!"

"THAT'S IT, SAM!" Pippin shouted, quite unlike his usual self. "If you accuse Frodo and Merry _one_ more time, I will strictly forbid you coming to my residence again! Now just clean up the mess! And where are Merry and Frodo, anyway…" he trailed off.

Muttering, Sam grabbed a rag and started to mop up the milk from the table. He had to lean across the table to reach the far edge, and his foot struck a soft bit of flesh. Prodding further, he removed the bench, and Merry and Frodo came tumbling out from underneath the table, wide-eyed and panicked. Both were completely dumbfounded. "Uuhh…It was all Merry's idea!" Frodo shouted quickly, his blue eyes flooded with panic and amusement and mischief and guilt.

"Pippin," Sam called, sarcastically nonchalant, "What was that you were saying about Mr. Frodo being the most dignified hobbit in the Shire? I have evidence against that." Pippin looked immediately apologetic.

"Look, Sam…" his voice was exasperated, "Really, I'm sorry, I didn't mean – really! Gah! What did you do Merry? And Mr. Frodo? I used to look up to you when I was in my tweens, you know!"

Frodo, though appearing fairly rumpled and tangled and still on the floor, looked up at Pippin with a small sarcastic smile upon his lips. "But you still are in your tweens, Pip, and I believe now it is _I_ who is looking up at you!" That caused Merry to lose it, and to burst into hysterical fits of laughter. Upon seeing his reaction, Frodo muttered, "Wood," and sent him even more so into hysterics. Both Pippin and Sam blushed profusely.

Pippin regained some of his composure. "Come off it, Frodo. _You_ have to clean up this mess, you know, and Merry, too. Once you've finished that, you can help cook Breakfast!" Grumbling, the two hobbits started to obediently scrub the table.

This exploit, however, took some time.

"Stop it, Merry! Don't throw bubbles at me!" Frodo exclaimed. Merry whistled nervously, and looked the opposite way.

Frodo grinned evilly. Scooping up a hand of bubbles from the table, he threw them at the back of Merry's head. Catching Pippin's equally malicious glare, he stopped, but not after dousing Merry from head to toe. Sam stood next to Pippin, caught between amusement and disgust.

By the time the table was clean, it was well past noon. "We'll just have to have Luncheon instead of Second Breakfast," said Merry, sighing. "I always hate to miss a meal. What are you cooking, Pip?"

"Oh, I'm not the one cooking it," said Pippin coolly. "You are. And I suppose Frodo has to help, too. Since we didn't have Second Breakfast, we'll just have to have you cook Luncheon. And please," he called as he and Sam started to walk down the hall into a study, "Try not to burn the hole down."

Merry sighed, muttering, "How on earth could you burn a hole _down_," but when he turned back to face Frodo, he caught his evil grin. "Are you thinking something evil again, Frodo? Come on, wasn't this enough for one day?"

"Quite frankly, no, it wasn't," Frodo said. "This isn't evil or a prank. This - oh, poor, naïve Merry - this is not evil; this is revenge, which is ever so sweet. Not evil in the slightest! Now! Let us commence the ruining of Luncheon!"

And so they did. No plate was spared: the potatoes had no butter or salt, but paprika and pepper instead; the fried tomatoes had far too much salt on them; the eggs were slightly runny, and the pepper that garnished them was un-ground; the bread had garlic mixed in with the butter; and in the soup, the potatoes, carrots, and peas were not peeled or rid of their shells. Only the cheese was spared, but only because they could think of nothing to do with it.

"Pippin, Sam!" Frodo called out in a sickly sweet voice, "Luncheon is ready!" He flashed a demonic grin at Merry before the other two hobbits entered. He quickly changed his face into a serious expression.

The aromas betrayed the true nature of the plates, and were tantalizingly delicious. Pippin and Sam sat down on one side of the table, already starting on the plates that had been set out on the table. Both had started eating, but Sam stopped abruptly when he noticed that Merry and Frodo were not. "What wrong with this food, Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry? Why aren't you eating?" he asked suspiciously.

Merry glanced nervously at Frodo, but he appeared indifferent. "There's not left, at all, that great dolt Merry ate all of what we had left without even waiting properly for the very people we cooked it for! I could barely salvage anything, but I found some bread that in your pantry, Pip. And don't look at me that way, Merry, you know as well as I that you ate the food, so don't try to get out of it!" Fortunately, Sam believed the instant alibi, but when his gaze turned back to his food, Frodo had to send Merry a frantic _Once more and we're done for!_ glance.

It was Pippin, however, who realized first that something was, indeed, wrong with the food. He had started with the tomatoes, and hadn't noticed the excess salt, as he naturally was quite taken with it and had an unusual tolerance for it. However, upon reaching the eggs, he found that something wasn't quite right. His eyesight, keen when spotting things at semi-far distances, was rather poor at a close-up range, so he hadn't noticed the unusual size of pepper. Putting it in his mouth, he responded to the harsh taste of the pepper by spitting the eggs out all over the table.

Merry started to laugh, but Frodo shot him a look before mock sighing at Pippin. "What are we going to do with you, Pippin? I just cleaned that table! My, my, it's a sad sight when a hobbit can't properly keep his food in his mouth!" His lips were firmly composed into a cool line of dismay, but his eyes danced with withheld laughter, and his cheeks were strained from the effort to hold the amusement in. His mockery of Merry's earlier words made the situation even more ironic and even more humorous for Frodo and Merry, making it harder to keep their suppressed laughter in.

Sam looked up from his own dish, the potatoes, and glanced down at them again, seeing for the first time that they weren't the usual creamy color, but speckled with red and black. His bewilderment sent Merry and Frodo laughing.

At the same instant, both of the once-famished hobbits pushed their plates away with equal looks of disgust on their faces. This only set Merry and Frodo laughing harder. Pippin was plainly horrified at the behavior of the supposedly dignified Frodo Baggins, and at Merry, who normally didn't go _this_ far. "You two are worse than children," Sam said, cutting their laughter short. "Honestly, you just fritter all your time away!"

"Well we wouldn't be, normally, but it's the weather, really, I suppose," Merry said, quickly trying to find an excuse. They hadn't noticed before, but the sky had steadily grown darker until it had become a deep, brooding gray.

"Besides," Frodo added, rather precise and dignified, or as dignified as a person covered in dried mud, pepper, and apple pulp could be, "If we're such children, why are we all going to Rosie Cottonwood's party?"

"We…are?" Pippin asked slowly.

"Why not?" Frodo asked, raising his eyebrow, "Then again, if we're such _children_, why would we _think_ of it? Let's see, none of us appear to be children here, now, do we? Sam, Pippin, Merry, you're all in your tweens, are you not? And myself, I've already come of age, just turned 33! Hmm…let's see, are those children's ages, Sam?" His tone was mocking, dignified, and playful, but did make a point.

"No, I suppose not, then. So…are we going or not?" Sam asked weakly.


	3. The End [Or the Beginning]

"Of course, you dolt!" Merry said. "Sometimes," he drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, "You're denser than a block of wood."

"Indeed," Frodo added, and both of them started laughing again. "You had better get into another change of clothes, Pip, and give something to Merry and Sam, too. We can stop by BagEnd on the way to Rosie's."

The company of hobbits quickly smartened themselves up a bit, washing away all the dried mud, pepper, various bits of food, and many other miscellaneous things off their skin, and then, after Pippin had produced sets of spare clothing, those who needed clean clothing changed into it. "Are we all set to go to BagEnd, then?" Frodo asked in an anxious voice.

"'Spose so," Merry answered, equally anxious, "It'll rain if we don't get moving quickly!"

They set off at a brisk pace, once again risking Frodo's now-infamous "shortcut". This time, however, no apples were thrown. The entire company was anxious to reach BagEnd before a supposed rainfall came, and in almost record time, they reached the gates of Hobbiton. Few hobbits were still out, as the sky hung heavy and dark gray, an ominous apprehension of what surely would come quickly and heavily. Those who still remained moved quickly, nervously glancing now and then at the sky, using a haunt's ghastly movements in a light, listless step.

Suddenly, a shiver of a delicious queasiness ran up Frodo's spine, and in his mind, a warning rang, a sudden break in the tension of not knowing that something was wrong consciously instantly broken. And such a thick presence of something was on the very edge of the air. The thought of Bilbo entered his mind, and he thought, _Bilbo, something's happened to Bilbo._ And the image of that mysterious ring hidden in the bottom of an old trunk flashed into his mind, and an image of Gandalf, with his long gray beard trailing as he broke into a swift gait on a smooth black horse. _And the rain, it's all connected, there is a sign that something was wrong with Bilbo…and Gandalf was going to save him, or something…but what about that ring?_ Frodo thought, trying nervously to piece together the entire puzzle. _It's more than the ring, or Bilbo, isn't it? _he thought, _Is it the entire Shire?_ _It has to do with the Ring…_That thought sent him a more forceful feeling of evil through his entire body, but as he ran with the rest of the hobbits up to the gates of BagEnd, he tried to shake it off his mind.

Fortunately, for a time, something else could occupy his thoughts. "Umm…Frodo, do you have the key?" Pippin asked, his voice a bit nervous. "See, the gates locked, and…well, how do we get in?"

Frodo cursed himself silently for his stupidity. "Well, I certainly don't have one, I mean, I never take one with me. I know the house door isn't locked, that's certain, but the gate…Oh, Sam and I must have locked it by mistake when we left for your house, Pippin!"

Merry looked at the gate, standing about four feet tall. "If we pushed you over, Mr. Frodo, do you think that you could unlock it?"

Frodo laughed, a bit awkwardly. "I can sure as fire try, Merry, and if that doesn't work, then I'll find the key inside. If I get inside, I mean."

That let a sigh of relief pass over them, as the sky was quickly deepening to a dark black and the clouds were churning quickly into a soon dance of thunder. "Well, how should we go about it?" Sam asked. "Me and Merry and Pip could make a base for your feet, and you could climb on top of that."

"Yes, that would work," Frodo said, calculating things out in his mind. "You come here, Sam…you there, Merry," he said, directing them to places along the gate. Merry stood across from Sam, grabbing the upper parts of Sam's arm and Sam doing the same with Merry's. "And Pippin, you just make sure I don't fall, alright? This isn't a genius plan, but it will suffice fairly well, I suppose."

He walked swiftly over to Sam and Merry. "Now lower your arms…steadily now!" He set himself gingerly on to of the improvised loft. "Now up! Yes, I am heavy, deal with it, and Pippin! Watch my…" Frodo paused as he caught the top of the gate from the swaying loft, "Balance. Now, I'm going over on one, two, three!" And with that, he swung himself over the gate, while Merry and Sam collapsed on top of Pippin, and triumphantly opened the door. "There," he said, rather pleased until he saw that Merry, Sam, and Pippin were all tangled up. He sighed, heaved Sam off the top of the mess, and offered each Merry and Pippin a hand. "Honestly, Sam, Merry, Pip, what would you be without me?" he said, pulling the two younger hobbits up.

"A whole lot safer, that's what," Sam muttered, causing a snicker from Pippin.

"I heard that," Frodo said loftily as he started to enter BagEnd in front of the rest, "But you certainly wouldn't be going to Rosie's party without me." With that, the others shut up and promptly followed Frodo inside.

"Just wait in the hall, I'll be out in a second," Frodo called as he raced to find a clean set of clothes. Quickly, he changed into a pair of clean trousers and a freshly washed shirt. He glanced at the clock that sat on a shelf and it read quarter-till five. Seeing he had time, he crept to the kitchen and started to search for a trunk, an old leather trunk, tucked somewhere under a counter. Before finding it, however, he picked up a small something off the floor, and smiling, he tucked it into his pocket.

He found it, his heart pounding frantically in his chest as he undid the ties that held the lid closed. _It's nothing_, he thought, _just an old trunk!_ As he shifted through a chaos of old papers, his heart kept beating faster still, until he found what he had been looking for at the bottom: an old envelope. He sighed with relief at seeing that it was untouched, but somehow, the relief was not at all sweet. It did not take the edge off his mind, and it was something more powerful, a presence, a slight subtle premonition that somehow he felt was changing everything, though the Shire's hills were still the same sloping ones, his fellow hobbit comrades still the lovable imbeciles.

He put the envelope back at the bottom and buried it in a sea of Bilbo's old notes, records of spending and the suchlike. Though supposedly Bilbo had been the wealthiest hobbit on all of Hobbiton, the myths of treasure in buried tunnels were untrue, though they had had no lack of recourses; only by managing careful budgets had they been able to live in the moderate comfort that they had now. After he shoved the trunk back under a pocked wooden counter and covered it with other old wicker containers of envelopes and records, he stood up and rushed into the hall to his companions.

"_Finally_, Frodo! You take so long to get dressed!" Pippin complained. "Honestly, we were betting on what was taking you longer, your hair or picking out the right shirt. I said shirt, was I right?"

"No, actually," Frodo responded quietly. "I was going through some of Bilbo's old papers, for just a moment. Sorry." This sobered the rest of the hobbits immediately, and painful memories of Bilbo's departure lay heavily on their minds. Frodo smiled, albeit a bit sadly, and said, "Come on, now, don't get depressed. Let's go to Rosie's, okay?"

Without words, the rest of the company acknowledged his words, and started out the door, down the lane to get into the heart of the small Hobbiton. "Actually, Pippin, I couldn't find a suitable shirt at all. Do you think that this one becomes me?" His tone was sarcastically serious.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Frodo, you'll be the finest hobbit at the party," Pippin answered, equally sarcastic.

"Oh, and something else held me back, too. Here, Sam," Frodo said, flicking a small piece of wood at the back of the hobbit's head. 

Sam flinched, and brushed the offending piece of wood gingerly away. "First apples, Mr. Frodo, now wood? What's gotten into you today, with your odd affection with throwing things at my head?"

In perfect synchronization, Merry and Pippin looked at Sam in Frodo, at each other, and said at the same time, "Apples?"

"Really, I don't want to know," Merry said. "Don't tell me. And look!" he said, changing the subject abruptly, "We're here!"

They entered a small courtyard filled with mingling hobbits, eating various plates of food, and drinking from heavy pewter tankards of ale. The piper Frodo had seen earlier, from the corner of the square, played jaunty tunes quietly in the corner, and the company settled down quickly into the rhythm of the party, talking loudly and laughing a-plenty. When the dancing started, with a mischievous grin, Frodo pushed a blushing Sam towards a giggly Rosie Cottonwood, Sam's ears flaming crimson as he started her into a jig.

Laughing quietly to himself, Frodo looked away from Sam and Rosie, and his eyes landed on Merry and Pippin, who were laughing loudly and rather drunkenly at one of the tables. Concernedly, he rushed over to them. "Are you…all right, Pippin? Merry?" They were surrounded by several empty pewter mugs, and upon hearing Frodo's discomfort, burst into laughing several moments off cue.

"We're fine…MR. Frodo," Pippin laughed, putting too much emphasis on each word, particularly the Mister. This sent Merry into hysterics, and smiling, too, Pippin carried on. "We just had a drink, a fine sir over THERE," he said, gesturing over-exuberantly around in circles, indicating the whole yard. "Well, he gave us a drink or so…and then another…and 'nother, and 'nother, until Merry said we should start a collection! So we DID!" He started to laugh again, but halted briefly to pull Merry up, who was sagging from laughing so hard. "And then," his tone turned into a dazed sort of sadness, as his out-of-focus eyes landed on an empty tankard, "We RAN out. Innit sad?"

Frodo sighed, and pulled Pippin up who, unfortunately, had just started to slump as well. "Come on, just stop drinking, and try to get home before you pass out, okay?" He looked up at the twinkling sky that had just started to fade out of the gray into a light blue and hazy periwinkle; the rain had not come, and the darkness had passed. He silently stood there for a moment, cursing his friends' stupidity.

Pippin perked up. "Righto, Mr.… FRODO!" Frodo left them giggling madly.

The dusty twilight quickly faded into the deep depressions of night. The songs of late birds broke the air, and a tranquility tainted with apprehension lay about the Shire. The stars shimmered out from the thick black field of the sky, and the light filtered gently, slowly down, accompanied by the sharp sweet light of the moon. And the hobbits slowly started to depart into the night, one by one, until only Sam, Rosie, and Frodo were left, not accounting the passed-out Merry and Pippin, who were hiccuping softly in the corner.

"G'night, Rosie," Frodo called as he left the party, Sam in tow.

"G'night, Frodo. Good night…Sam," she called, giggling on Sam's name. If possible, Sam blushed even deeper.

"Good night, Rosie," Sam said, his face positively on fire.

"You will make sure that Merry and Pippin get home safe, right?" Frodo called, turning around to make sure that his drunken friends would, indeed, be safe. Though the clouds had passed without rainfall, he still couldn't shake that sign.

"I will, I'll get someone to take them home once they've sobered up a bit," she called back.

The pair of started to walk back to BagEnd, and a vague ease settled over Frodo. Just as the clouds had passed, maybe the evil that the clouds forewarned would pass as well. "Sam?" Frodo asked. "_Sam?_"

"What?" Sam asked, with a frenzied tone to his syllables. "What? Sorry, I was thinking…"

"About what, Rosie?" Frodo teased, enjoying so to see his friend blush. "Anyway," his tone softened, into the same thoughtful, light listless tone he had used earlier that day. "Sam, do you think those clouds meant anything? I mean, as in a premonition? I just can't shake this feeling I have, Sam, I just know that _something_ is going to happen, but I can't tell what yet."

"Well, I don't know Mr. Frodo," Sam said, in a skeptical tone. "I mean, clouds are fairly irrelevant when you are concerning with 'omens' and such."

Frodo stopped Sam, a smile on his lips, this time not of bemusement, or sadness, but genuine care for his friend, a smile that clearly said, _Silly, silly Samwise Gamgee_. "Don't you see after all this time, Sam?" he asked, his tone soft and smooth and unearthly tranquil, filled with care. "_Everything_ has relevance, everything has a meaning. Just as the day when Gandalf left, it was dark and deathly quite, it is today: the clouds, the darkness, that feeling of apprehension. And when Bilbo left, it was utterly somber, a feeling on the air felt by all, even though the atmosphere was a party. But don't you see, the clouds passed? If the clouds mean evil, does that mean the evil, too, will pass? What do you think that means?"

Sam smiled back at Frodo. "I don't know, Frodo, I just don't know. But whatever it means, you know I'll always be there for you, don't you?"

Frodo nudged Sam's shoulder playfully, and they started up the lane towards BagEnd. "Of course, Sam…of course." He smiled at Sam again, once again an ease settling over him. "Overall, though, wouldn't you say that this has been a very odd day?"

"That it has, though a fine day, one fine day indeed," Sam said with a hint of a laugh on his voice. They approached the gate, and Sam stopped. "Good night, Mr. Frodo."

"Good night, Sam."

Frodo walked up to the door, and found it strangely open. _I didn't leave it open when I left, did I?_ he asked himself, knowing that he hadn't. Something wasn't right, he could feel it in the very depths of his being, and somehow, he knew something wouldn't be right for a long time to come yet. He entered cautiously, and started towards the kitchen when a hand, a large one grabbed his shoulder. He turned instantly around, shoulders tense and nerves sharp, to be faced with Gandalf.

"Is it secret?" Gandalf hissed, "Is it safe?"

"Is…what safe?" Frodo asked, subconsciously knowing the answer. It was the Ring, the Ring would be what would alter the fates of all.

After they had settled into a serious talk, and Frodo had learnt of the horrors of the Ring, he knew, knew that the clouds, the visions of Gandalf and Bilbo and the Ring had been signs. Suddenly, Gandalf strode over the window to a faint rustling noise. Frodo got down on the floor, his heart racing. Gandalf abruptly pulled up Sam, and in that mask of fear and fury, Frodo didn't envy Sam for looking straight into Gandalf's face. "Samwise Gamgee," Gandalf said curtly. "I might have known." There was a wry smile on his lips, and Frodo wanted to laugh with relief.

By the time the next morning in which Frodo and Sam had been discussing what to do the previous day, they had started their journey to the Inn of the Prancing Pony. "What did I tell you about relevance, Sam?" Frodo asked, his tone serene and un-accusing.

"That everything was relevant, Mr. Frodo, and, indeed, you were right."

"Well, we'll be on our toes, then. Remember what old Bilbo used to say, Sam? _It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step out onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to._" Bilbo's voice echoed in Frodo's ears, and for a split second, the desire to forsake the Ring, all the troubles of the world, and to run through the fresh fields of the Shire, to laugh without care, to see Bilbo's face when he came back from a long, hard day, overwhelmed his senses.

"We'll just have to watch our feet, then, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo smiled. "Indeed, we will." And though the desire and the intense love of the Shire and the sloping hills and fresh fields still ran through his veins, Frodo could feel a change: not a longing for adventure, like Bilbo's, nor a long for danger, but he could feel the change of heart from a naïve person to a strong one, and though the road would be long and hard, he could face up to it, and, at that moment, together with Sam he felt as though he could do anything.

*

Frodo recalled that memorable day in the Shire, the one when his part with the Ring had begun. A small smile played on his lips as he tried to follow Legolas' bow, which was the point in front of him that he could clearly see and follow in the great veil of snow. The entire Fellowship had bravely set into the cool Misty Mountains, determined not to have to pass through the Mines of Moria by choice. _Good ol' Sam and Merry and Pip, I wonder if they remember that day too…_ Frodo said, the memory of that summer day keeping him warm through all the sheets of ice. 

And suddenly…he was filled with a great feeling of emptiness, something like he had just let go of his home, of the Shire, without realizing it, and the feeling of loss weighed subtly on the brink of his conscious. And suddenly…he was determined: _I won't let this get me down,_ he though fiercely, as another sheet of snow fell closer than ever before to the Fellowship and the sheer weight of the Ring and the tiredness that had been gnawing on his mind for the last few days started to relapse his mind. _I have to stay strong! I will go home to the Shire,_ he thought as another sheet of snow fell closer, _I will go home, and once this evil is destroyed… I'll go home. _Another smile settled gently onto his lips and the warmth of it spread through his entire body, keeping him warm through the icy haze.

***

Closing notes: Wow! I am rather pleased with this end result, though it is _much_ different than how I originally intended it to be. I thought it would be just a teeny-weeny idea…I was really wrong!

I know that this fic is not entirely true to the novel, as it doesn't at all happen this way in the book; I read the entire trilogy, just as any devoted LOTR's fan has! But I though I'd give some ties to the movie as well, so this is the final result, a rather odd combination.

Thank you for reading! I am unsure if I should break this into chapters…please contact me @ UmbrellaKitty@hotmail.com if you have any ideas. I hope you enjoyed a drunken Merry and Pippin, a devious Frodo, and I'm sorry if there is any OOC! I know the 'wood' joke was done to death, but I'm sorry; I'm still not very good with humor! Thanks bunches, love you all! ~ Feather =^-^=


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